


when enough is not enough

by valerian



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerian/pseuds/valerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long can a heart wait? </p><p>A Frey/Leon fic, based upon Leon's confession and proposal events, written for amatsu-otome for the Rune Factory 2014 Secret Santa!</p>
            </blockquote>





	when enough is not enough

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Long, Long Way" by Damien Rice.

When she first asks him out, she’s not ready for it. Him. 

She’s not ready for him. 

She’s amazed by him, impressed by him, amused by him. Charmed. 

But she’s not ready for the callous way he shrugs, tells her off. 

“I can’t date you because I can’t marry you,” he says. 

Her heart sinks to her stomach. “What?” 

And he explains that he had decided never to marry. That he can’t marry. That he’d rather she give up now rather than later, when her heart will break. 

(As if it’s not breaking already. Tch. Men.)

Still, Frey thinks on it because she’s got to. She thinks on the way a couple of guys in town have been flirting with her in that awkward way Selphian boys excel at. She thinks on the way Volkanon’s been suggesting she pair up already, your highness, oh, how the kingdom would rejoice to celebrate a young prince or princess! 

Hmph.

Then she thinks on the way Leon ruffles her hair, pulls on her pigtails. 

She thinks on the way he laughs, wide mouthed, teeth bared, eyes shut. 

She thinks on those hands tanned by the sun over the lake when he fishes, how he had once pressed his palm to her palm and said, “The princess has really small fingers.” 

“They’re normal to me. You just have giant ones.” 

“Don’t be mad, your highness. We all come in different shapes and sizes. The gods just made you in ‘abnormally small,’ which is fine.” A smirk. “You’ve gotta love you for you, Frey.”

And well, okay. So—yeah, she’s kinda in deep. Pretty deep. Deep as Keeno Lake had been when she’d pushed him off the boardwalk, into the water, when he’d pulled her in with him seconds later. 

That was followed by loud screaming and muffled laughing and splashing, splashing, splashing. It had been a fun day in summer then, and now it’s autumn, and she’s thinking on it, and she’s done thinking on it, so she turns into a big, fat, evil liar because she can’t help herself, gods can she not help herself—

“It’s fine.” She nods. “We don’t have to marry. We don’t.” 

Are you sure? “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” She swallows. “Yes, I’m sure. I want to be with you, and if that means—” _Oh, how Volkanon will be disappointed._ “If that means no marriage, I’m okay with it.” 

He stares. 

She offers him a smile, reassuring, calm, professional—she’s practiced it often enough. It’s the smile of a princess who’s got no past but ample future: one in which she wants him to star despite the cost to her heart (yep, definitely breaking). 

 

 

So she forces it when they start dating. She fakes it, this being okay with no marriage thing. Frey’s never been keen to lie, but she knows how to compartmentalize, right? It’s another skill she’s honed, for when she’s got to run errands about town and to face complaints and monsters and battles and scars. 

And phrases, so many phrases. Like:

“Of course, I’ll do that for you! It’s my pleasure.” 

and 

“Oh, no worries. No need to thank me!” 

and

“I’m just happy you’re happy.” 

With the clincher being,

“Whatever you want, I’ve got.” 

After all, who would trust a ruler who isn’t a shining, glorious exemplar of hope? She’s gotta be everything for Selphia, savior and white knight and guardian angel rolled into one. And sure, she’s wanted to break down from time to time, but those tantrums (if you could even call crying silently into her pillow at 2 in the morning tantrums) are best saved for private misery. 

 Anyway, the point is that she’s good at hiding the pain when she and Leon date. And date they do. 

There are brunches at Porcoline’s restaurant, early afternoon picnics at the lake. Evening trips to the general store. Late night stargazing on the airship, then later night closed eyed revelry in her room. 

Through all of it, she holds her tongue as she falls deeper and deeper into him, like drowning. And when he holds her to his chest when they’re together in bed, satiated but still craving closeness, for those precious seconds she can pretend that this is all she needs. 

“You make me pretty darn happy,” he whispers into her ear one winter’s night, an arm at her waist, a hand sliding across her hips, her thighs. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a while.” 

What an admission. What an admission! It’s cruel (because it gives her hope that perhaps, no, no, but could it—?) and beautiful (because of the same, aforementioned reason), and she takes a minute to reply. 

“I’m happy too.” She nuzzles her cheek into his chest. “I am always happy with you.” 

“Are you really?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Well, damn. (He’s making a liar out of her.) 

“I’m sure.” 

“That causes problems then.” He smiles lazily. 

She frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Are you happy without me? When I’m not there, can you smile? ‘Cause I don’t want to be turning you into a drug addict, Frey, addicted to me and my handsome, rugged visage.” 

She bursts into laughter, at the silliness of his suggestion. How ironic it is that he doesn’t know—! Because, sure, she can smile when he’s away, but when he’s around, the smiling becomes more than that. It becomes real, almost. Real, almost, like the painful squeezing of her heart, her veins flooded through with the relentless pinprick of love.

“I can function very well by myself, thanks. But I’d prefer to function around you.” She blinks. “As much as possible.” 

“Hmm…” His eyes cloud with the unreadable, a problem solved quickly by a feather-soft kiss he leans in to press against her lips. “Maybe I’m the addict then. Addicted to her royal highness, Princess Frey of Selphia.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m starting to think I can’t be saved.” 

That forced smile again: she offers it to him on bended knee, head bowed, as though she’s pleading, _knight me already! Please!_ (as desperate and sad and grossly slighting to her gender as it is to beg a man to marry her.) 

“I’ll save you,” she whispers. 

“Or we could both become addicts together.” He grins.

 

 

And then seasons pass, and it’s this way for a long, long time. 

They exchange love, passion, food, letters they sneak into each others’ pockets. They sneak kisses, too, in between memorial services and wedding receptions alike. 

Because, boy, do Selphians like wedding receptions. And weddings. And gods, she loves to see her friends married off (Meg first, then Clorica, then Xiao Pai, Dolce, and Forte in all her knightly grandeur), but gods, does it hurt her to the very core to either officiate or smile and clap and cheer as maid-of-honor. 

Because even though she’s with the man she loves, she’s not _with_ him. And she “never will be” (his words) because he will never marry her. 

He will never marry her, and she had said it’s okay, even though she has no idea why he won’t, and she’s not only a liar but also a coward because she has this engagement ring in her pocket (crafted it herself) and she wants to just broach the subject, just once, just to test the waters, because it’s been three years, and she wants the promise of forever, but she can’t, she’s scared, she doesn’t know how, she doesn’t know— 

Until. 

He does ask her. 

He asks her on a warm summer’s day in the fourth year. Fourth.

It’s also humid, yeah, but it’s warm, and he’s just finished telling her about his obligation to Maria, how he had sworn off love so he could keep a promise to someone long gone. 

And now that he’s learned that she had given up on him, this woman of a thousand seasons ago whom Frey has learned to hate in the span of a few hours, Leon feels liberated enough to ask, 

“Will you marry me?” Followed by, “Marry me. Please.” 

Frey simply stares. She looks. She gazes at his face, which has become her home, and her poor heart, poor heart, works itself into overdrive. Is threatening to beat itself to death. 

Because Frey cannot believe the words coming out of Leon’s mouth at the base of Leon Karnak, his home(coming) and is this her home(coming) too, a location forever imprinted in her mind, her new memory as _the place_ she had promised, will promise, him forever…? 

The obvious answer could be, would be, _should be_ yes, _yes! A thousand times yes!_ But now that the moment’s here, the moment she’s been waiting for, longing for; has imagined over and over again these past four years, so often chewed on, ruminated upon that it’s been reduced to spit-covered cud—she can’t summon the word _yes_ to save her life. 

Instead, she says, “Let me think on it.” 

And then she runs. Away. Like the coward she has never been, not in the face of dragons, the evil empire, death—she runs from the man she loves. 

 

 

Straight to her best friend’s house. 

“Dolce, please help. Please help me, please help me, please help.” 

“Frey?” the once guardian (like Leon) asks. “What’s wrong?” 

“I did a bad thing.” Frey sighs, and it’s more like an excuse not to talk, to admit that she did a very bad thing. “It’s so bad.” 

“What kind of bad?” Dolce frowns. “Like kill an innocent man bad, or—“

 “I turned Leon’s proposal down.” The princess sinks to the floor, slouches against the door. “I don’t know why I did it. I’ve been wanting him to say it, but now he’s said it, I said, ‘Let me think on it’, and I just—ran—“ 

“That’s not turning him down though.” Dolce sets her knitting onto the table, walks over to her friend and rests a hand on Frey’s shoulder. “You said you wanted some time to think. That’s normal.”

Frey can feel the coolness of Dolce’s wedding band against her bare skin. “Is it really? How can something so right, like saying ‘yes’, be so hard to say? I’ve wanted this for ages. But I’ve also—I’ve hidden my feelings for him, I’ve denied myself actual happiness not wanting to get too close. I’ve cried about him even,” she bites her lower lip, “but obviously I can’t tell him any of this—“ 

“Why not?” 

“Huh?” 

Dolce tilts her head. “Why not? Why not be honest with him, tell him how he hurt you? I mean, if you ask me, he’s to blame for making you cry, and you shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty.” 

And then it hits her, hits Frey, that she’s right. “You’re right.”

She doesn’t need to give _him_ an answer; he’s always had it, had her yes, had _her_ in the palm of his hand. But when has she had him, huh? When has she ever had him, had _his_ answer, _his_ “yes”? 

Why does he get off scot-free for causing her pain? Why should he stroll down easy lane and expect her immediate affirmation, her leaping into his arms, after all these years she’s been kept in the dark about _why_ he doesn’t want to get married? 

“Gods, it’s so simple,” Frey says. Then she’s out the door and back to the castle, to the jewelry box where she had hidden that ring she had made. She tucks it into her pocket and heads to Keeno Lake where she knows he’ll be fishing. Because it’s been four years, and if she hasn’t memorized his habits by heart by now, she wouldn’t be proposing, would she? 

 

 

At the lake, she catches him in the middle of reeling something in. She watches quietly from behind as he unveils slowly the unfortunate fate of a flounder, floppy and pathetic-looking but delicious with some garlic, some onion, and something else, who knows, she’s not the one who does all the cooking. 

“Ahem.” She walks up to him once he’s set the fish down. “Leon. I want to talk.” 

“Frey.” He flashes her a smile, so familiar, so brilliant all the same. But it’s guarded now; she can see it in the way the corner of his eyes don’t crinkle. “I didn’t have to wait long, now did I?” 

“No, you didn’t.” She drops her gaze to the fish, flopping on the dock. She looks up again. “It wasn’t my intention to make you wait, though. Just so you know.” 

“Okay.” He unfurls his fan. “Regardless, I’m still glad to see you. Like always.” 

“I’m glad to see you too,” she says, feeling her resolve soften under his eyes, and damn it, Frey, no! “But I’m not here to talk about that. I—I want to talk about this instead.” 

She pulls the engagement ring from her pocket. 

His eyes widen behind the fan. “Wait. Is that—“ 

“It’s an engagement ring, yes.” 

“So, are you—are you—“

“Am I asking you to marry me?” She smiles weakly. “Yes.” 

He snaps the fan shut. The sound is too loud for the calm surrounding the water. “Is this your answer to me then?” The beginnings of a smile tug on the corners of his lips. “Are you saying yes to my proposal?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything to your proposal. I’m just asking for you to marry me.” 

The smile is snuffed out. “Interesting…” 

“I’m serious, Leon.” Frey can feel her hand start to tremble under the weight of his stare. “I want _you_ to give _me_ an answer. Because—“ Deep breath. “Because all this time—you knew what _my_ answer would be, didn’t you?” 

He blinks. 

“You knew I was yours from the moment I asked you out. And you knew that I’ve been waiting for the question, for you to propose—and you knew when you asked me that there was no way I’d turn you down.” 

“…I guess I did. Yeah.” He steps forward. “Is that why you said—“ 

“I said I’d think about it because I needed to think about this. About the fact that you’ve had the upper hand for so long. About the fact that I’ve been lying to myself all these years thinking I don’t need marriage or I don’t want it—that I’m different from other people. That I can repress this… _want_.” She swallows thickly, wipes at the sudden, unwanted prickling at her eyes. “And then I realized that it’s okay for me to want marriage, to want a promise in the eyes of the law. That I’m not dumb for being disappointed you wouldn’t offer it to me, ever.” 

“Frey.” He steps even closer. “I had no idea.” 

“I know. I know. I didn’t say anything for the sake of you and me. I didn’t want to seem like I was complaining.” She wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “I wanted you to stick around. We have so much fun together. I didn’t want to—scare you—lose you—“ 

“Lose me?” He reaches a hand out, brushes the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Did you know that two months into dating you, I was a goner? For you. An absolute goner. There was no going back, but I just…I guess I had a lot of baggage left over from my past. From Maria.” 

She dabs at her nose. “Yeah?” 

“I didn’t know how to fix it, to reconcile my feelings for you with my stupid promise to her. And I was scared that if I told you about her too soon, _you’d_ go away—“

“I would never.”

“I know. I know. But Maria was my burden, not yours. Yet you helped me carry it. My past. You helped me when you didn’t have to, when it probably stung to do so.” 

“I just wanted you to be happy. So…” She shrugs. 

He tilts her chin upward. “So…what I’m trying to say is that you’re basically the perfect woman.”

“What?” 

“It’s my turn to be serious here.” He runs fingers through her hair. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

“Wait.” She chuckles then, an odd, elated sound through her tears. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He smiles again, and this time she can tell it’s real. “And please put that ring on me. Your highness’ small fingers must be tired holding it up.” 

 


End file.
